Better Late Than Never
by InsanityInReverse
Summary: Matthew Williams and Alfred F. Jones. They've been best friends longer than either of them can remember; two halves of a whole. And when Matthew's girlfriend wants a break, Alfred is there for him to pick up the pieces, as a bro should be. But wait, what exactly is Alfred there for, again? [USCan]


**A/N **;; I promised someone a very long time ago that I would never write a high school AU. So I didn't. I write a college AU. ^.^ But… I've never written a college AU before. If I make any horrible mistakes, someone please correct me. I'm not even in high school yet. orz

Anyway, welcome to this story! It's AmeCan (or USCan, whichever you prefer)! I'm excited – there aren't too many AmeCan/USCan stories out there, and that makes me a very sad authoress. America is easily within the top nations that I actively pair with Canada, so it's a must that I write a story centering around them. This story originally wasn't going to be uploaded for another three or four months, but since my moving date was switched around, I thought I'd (celebrate…?) with the posting of a new story!

Remember to review! It makes me, as a fledging authoress, very happy!

And my overall thoughts on this chapter? _**What is this…? I don't even… **_

**Warning ahead of time: **This story, to me, seems to be halfway cracky and halfway... not cracky. I wouldn't call it serious, because I don't take any of my stories _that _seriously - if I did, I wouldn't be able to handle the criticisms.

* * *

**Better Late Than Never**

**…o…**

**Chapter One**

**…o…**

* * *

Alfred F. Jones pushes away his empty tray, now void of any traces of the hamburgers or fries he had ordered. Leaning back, he looks over the boy sitting across from him – well, "boy" in the sense that Matthew was in fact three days older than him, and Alfred still regarded himself as the epitome of immaturity. Arthur had called him that a couple months ago, and because Matthew had joined in in the teasing, the name had just stuck. He was Alfred F. Jones, the Epitome of Immaturity, which was exactly why he just finished eating two Happy Meals. Because he is not mature enough to handle the real deal – except when he totally is, and can finish eight of them, but that was beside the point.

The point is that Alfred can listen to his best friend talk. He's not too bad at that.

"Okay, so what did you want to talk about, bro?" he asks conversationally.

Matthew looks down, playing with the straw sticking out of his Coke with his index finger, trailing it around the brim of the bottle. Actually, he hadn't looked up the entire time they had been sitting there, and had only listened to Alfred eat, so he couldn't have technically have looked down just then. But whatever he did, he was evading Alfred's question, and that did not please him.

Now, Alfred knows his best friend. The Canadian was and will always be his other half. Matthew was thinking about best to phrase his thoughts aloud, but in the meanwhile, he would be more than happy with making Alfred forget his whole dramatic act of running – not driving, but running – to his house, storming in, rushing up to him, grabbing Alfred's arm, and telling him that they desperately needed to talk. And he had done this all with his too-blue eyes unusually bright from the tears brimming along his eyes.

And everyone called Alfred the dramatic one. Pfft.

"C'mon, Mattie, what's up?" he prods, careful to keep his tone as gentle as possible. If there's one thing he knows, it's that Matthew can be almost fragile at times – how he can be fragile and a fucking beast at hockey is beyond Alfred's sense of comprehension, but he digresses – and the best way to make him talk is to baby him if he's feeling particularly emotional.

Matthew Williams was his best bro, friend, and other half. Alfred had known him since he was but a mere four-year-old. Given, Alfred had also been four years old at the time, and also had met Matthew through stealing a big, bad seven-year-old Russian's granola bar whereas Matthew himself had swooped in and rescued him – the first and last time Alfred had let himself be _rescued; _from then on, he had been the hero of their little duo. He was the one who rescued Matthew from then on. Matthew was a pretty solid guy, in Alfred's opinion, and not overly emotional, but he didn't really have fully developed defense mechanisms when it comes to the emotional stuff.

"Katyusha," Matthew whispers to him. And immediately, Alfred gave his undivided, no questions asked, attention. He remembered, back in the day, that he had pinned for Katyusha for almost a month – if only to get in between those huge breasts of hers. But since she had been seeing Matthew exclusively for over a year, however, the American had quickly shot his idea down. But he did inwardly grin at the memory – those had been some good times. Sneaking into the roof with Gilbert to spy on the girls' changing room was one of the best experiences in his entire high school years.

"Katyusha Bragins… Braginsk…?" Alfred trails off.

"Braginskaya," Matthew finishes for him, voice and eyes equally dull. "And yeah. Her."

Arthur and Francis and Gilbert could call him thick- headed all they wanted, could say that Alfred didn't know how to read the atmosphere unless it was for his own benefit, but his eyes caught the little shifts in Matthew's stance. He paid more attention to the people around him and his surroundings more than everyone gave him credit for. "What about Kat?"

"She's just being… kind of strange," he muttered, tapping an irregular rhythm with his fingers on the plastic table. That's another sign that Alfred recognizes – Matthew is trouble and impatient and irritated all in one. "I mean, it's not much, or anything," Matthew adds quickly. "We're on a break. It's just kind of… unexpected, is all."

Matthew is trying to put on a show for him, Alfred can tell. Being strong is what people have come to expect of Matthew. But it doesn't work with him. Shit like that only works if the person doesn't know you too well, and Alfred knows Matthew way too well. Matthew is one of the, if only, people that Alfred can read like a book. That's the way it's always been.

"Yeah, sure…" Alfred rolls his eyes. "That's a bit of an understatement, much, Mattie? Since when are you and Kat on a break?" He has no tact. He's very aware of that – Arthur had told him enough times over the years. He never has, and he probably never will.

"A couple of days ago," Matthew answers. "Wednesday, maybe?" It's already Saturday afternoon, and Alfred can feel his eye twitch irritably. "You know I've got to focus on school right now," he tells Alfred seriously. "First semester marks are worth a lot. And you know how busy I get in November; I need my marks as high as possible right now." Because Matthew is a diehard hockey fan and also captain of the local team, it's almost impossible to drag him away from the arena or his room. He's either studying or playing hockey, all day, every day. Well… one of those things, or snowboarding.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Alfred demands, sounding a bit more wounded than he had intended, and he can feel his cheeks heat slightly as Matthew sends him an odd look, eyebrow raised questioningly. He had wanted to sound pissed off. It wasn't quite what he was going for. "It's Satur-fucking-day, Mattie. Wednesday was ages ago. What the fuck, bro?"

Matthew runs a hand through his wavy blond hair, messing it up and blowing the one errant curl he has out of his eyes. Alfred's eyes track the single piece of hair as it flies up just to land in the exact same place again, prompting Matthew to repeat the action. "Yeah, I know," he mutters. "Sorry about that. I wasn't really thinking about that."

"You're such a chicken shit, Mattie," Alfred replies, pulling a glare for his best friend.

Matthew glances at him, looking a little more than annoyed. Alfred tries to hide his grin. "Hell, Al, it's not exactly something I want to think about all the time. Where's your stupid philosophy bullshit?" Alfred can't bother to hide the grin anymore at that; he had taken a philosophy course during his first year of university, just so he could, as Matthew had said, pretend he knew what he was talking about when he spouted off his philosophy bullshit. "Maybe I was trying to think of it as 'not real;' isn't that what you were always spouting?"

When Alfred is able to get Matthew like this, with his guard let down completely, then he knows he can get to his little Canadian friend. "Yeah, that's right," he agrees. "But you still tell your best friend, asshole."

Matthew stares at him for a moment, blue eyes blinking slowly, probably trying to decide whether Alfred is just trying to egg him on, or if he's actually pissed off. In reality, it's a bit of both, actually. But Matthew decides on egging him on, asking, "Why, so you can comfort me by making her jealous that you'll pick me up when she doesn't want me?"

"Well, yes, I'm actually quite looking forward to seducing you. Or raping you, whichever…" Alfred replies, shrugging casually. It's his and Matthew's ritual, with bordering on queer behavior towards one another, and no matter how pissed off he is, Alfred isn't one to pass up a ritual. And Matthew knows that very well.

Matthew points a finger at him, a little smile curving the corners of his lips as he says, "It's not rape if it's willing."

Arthur would flip out if he heard them speaking to one another like this, Alfred thinks. Both of them are rather awkward – he's only able to bring this side of himself out around Matthew, strangely enough – but behavior like this coming from sweet, kind, harmless Matthew could throw Arthur for a loop. His own awkwardness works to his advantage, somewhat, as Francis had told him. It makes him more charming, the Frenchman had said.

But Matthew's own awkwardness makes him even more of a dork than he already is – or, in Francis' words, _très adorable_. It had taken the Canadian well over two months to gather up the courage to have a normal conversation with Katyusha without looking as though his face was going to spontaneously combust from how red it got. He was a shy guy – the only exceptions to the rule being when Matthew was playing hockey, or if he was with his best bro, as he was now… or if he was playing video games with Gilbert, or if he was getting higher than a kite with Lars, but both of those were different stories altogether.

Alfred smirked. "That is true, bro, very true. So… seduction it is?" He clasps his hands under his chin, leaning forward, batting his eyelashes. And fuck anyone who said he wasn't as attractive as Matthew was – Francis and Arthur, his own blood, mainly. Matthew was adorable; Alfred was sexy. There. That's just the way it was.

Matthew mirrors Alfred's expression, his mind obviously taken off Katyusha for the moment. _Mission accomplished, _Alfred thinks triumphantly. _The Hero prevails once again. _"Ooh, how clever. Seduction… I expect the whole ten yards, whipped cream and all."

"Uh… it's nine yards, isn't it?"

Matthew's eyes narrow, and his smirk grows a little bit sharper. He had never been able to smirk like that before meeting Gilbert, so Alfred supposed he had to thank the albino for putting a little bit more spine in his best friend. But that's _all _he had to thank the older student for – oh, and for showing him that changing room spot, but that was different. That didn't involve Matthew. "Oh, I expect you to go that extra yard, too," he tells Alfred.

Alfred claps his hands together, running his tongue over his lips. "No time to waste then!" He winks, and his smirk widens a bit more. "You know, my house is empty right now…" As expected, Matthew doesn't even raise an eyebrow, nor does his expression change, but he instead raises his voice to a high-pitched giggle.

A fucking _giggle_, dammit.

"Be a dear, and pay for the bill, won't you, Alfie?" he coos. From the corner of his eye, Alfred can spy Lovino, the campus' prime example of anger issues personified, sitting in the booth beside them, gag, pulling an angry scowl as he noticed Alfred's eyes on him. The American quickly moved his eyes away. He didn't exactly feel like getting cussed out in the middle of a restaurant full of people. But Alfred couldn't really blame Lovino's initial reaction. Matthew sounded sickeningly sweet. If it wasn't normal banter between the two of them, it might have been disturbing for him, as well.

"Of course I will, bun," he replied cheekily, grabbing his tray and sliding out of the booth, stretching languidly as he stood.

Matthew wrinkles his freckled nose. "Bun? Where did that one come from, eh? Angel-face," he adds on as an afterthought.

"Why, thank you, Mattie-kins. And love has no names."

"That's not an answer."

"My choice of loving names for you shouldn't require reasons."

Matthew rolls his eyes – rather pretty eyes, actually, if Alfred thought about for a moment. "You're such a hoser," he mutters to Alfred's retreating back, resting his elbows on the table and his chin in his hands, frowning.

* * *

They walk out of the restaurant together, Alfred feeling Lovino burning holes into the backs of their heads all the way. As soon as they are out the doors, Alfred swings his arm around, letting it rest across Matthew's shoulders. He pulls his elder a little bit closer to him, feeling Matthew's shoulders tense under the touch before they loosened up again.

They travel in silence for a couple of minutes before Alfred realizes that he cannot, under any possible circumstances, allow Matthew to be silent for long enough to begin thinking of Katyusha again. That really wouldn't be healthy for either of them. It was always better to sort these types of things out when his best bro could lie down somewhere, like the worn out, ratty couch in Alfred's room. It wasn't exactly a therapist's couch, but it was close enough.

"Hey, Mattie?" he ventures.

"Hmm?"

"When are you planning to break out the skateboard hardcore?" Alfred asks. It's the best he can come up for a subject. Matthew was as close as a professional snowboarder as they came, and when it got close enough to winter that he felt the need to train, but without any snow on the ground, he would break down and use a skateboard.

Alfred can feel Matthew shrug under his arm. "I don't know. Sometime next week, maybe? It's already the beginning of November and there's no snow. I'm kind of worried."

"About the snow?" Alfred asks incredulously. "Only you, bro. You're so Canadian."

"I make the money using the snow," Matthew replies indignantly, but doesn't say anymore on the subject, and Alfred is secretly glad that he hadn't thrown Matthew into 'patriotism mode.' It was a name he had thought up for the stance Matthew took when Alfred or anyone else brought up the fact that he was Canadian and shoved it in his face. The mode would begin with little quips about Canadian culture, but if one was unlucky enough not to know when to stop pushing Matthew, he could very well go into a full blown out rant, lasting between two and five hours. Both Gilbert and Alfred had been unfortunate enough to have to sit through individual rants. From that day forward, Gilbert had never dared to tease Matthew about his cultural identity.

Letting out a little breath of relief at the rant he had managed to avoid, Alfred said, "I had no idea you were so kinky, Mattie. Don't you freeze when you're taking care of this… business?" Alfred wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, something that he had actually had to get Matthew to teach him how to do, tightening his hold on Matthew's shoulders.

Matthew's expression changes rather quickly, reverting back to his walled-up, thinking face. His 'Katyusha face', as Alfred dubs it, for the time being. He inwardly groans.

"Hey, Mattie, none of that now," he says hastily, drawing Matthew's attention back to him.

"None of what?" he snaps, not quite the picture of innocence. The fact that he was red right up to the tips of his ears didn't help the matter.

"None of the thinking about Kat," Alfred attempts to tell him sternly.

"I wasn't thinking about Katyusha," Matthew replies weakly.

"Suuuuure. What else were you thinking about? Monkey sex? Naked Arthur?"

Matthew makes a face – something akin to a mixture of disgust and fascination, though what he could possibly be fascinated about, Alfred isn't sure. He hoped to everything above that Matthew didn't find anything fascinating in the picture of a naked Arthur, because… just… _ew_. "Okay, so I was thinking of Katyusha. So what? I can think of her, you know. She was my girlfriend, eh–"

"She is your girlfri– wait, what? Girlfriend?" Alfred cuts him off, pulling them to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk.

Matthew's face turns a bright cherry red. "We made it official," he mumbles. "That gives me even more reason to think about her." He glances at Alfred. "Sorry, Al, didn't mean to shock you. I just didn't want a big deal made of it at the time."

Alfred was pretty surprised, to be honest. He knew that Katyusha and Matthew had been seeing each other exclusively, but whenever asked, they would only claim that they had "gone on a couple dates, that's all." Never once did they make it official publicly. Well, at least as far as Alfred knew, they hadn't. Until now, obviously.

Matthew took his silence the wrong way, frowning worriedly. "Don't be angry, Al. It's just… you know me," he says helplessly. "I'm pretty private and all."

"Understatement," Alfred mutters. "But no, dude, I'm not pissed. Not about that. I know you, bro, and no matter how much I yell at you, you're just so fucked up as to not tell me these things."

Matthew pulls a little smile. "That's true," he agrees. "But you love me anyway."

"Do I ever!" Alfred flashes a goofy, over-exaggerated grin at Matthew, and the Canadian kicks his foot out from beneath him. Alfred landing flat on his ass is a painful and very unfunny occurrence to him, but Matthew apparently thinks quite the opposite.

He gets up slowly, rubbing his ass, as Matthew, his very best friend, has a laughing aneurysm right in front of him. He takes one look at Alfred's face, sees his death being played out in blue eyes, and just books it. "Get back here, you jackass!" Alfred howls after his receding back, proceeding to "chase" after him. Well, "chase" in the way of a short little sprint that has him panting with his hands on his knees a moment later. He resorts to a jog, not even able to see Matthew anymore.

Goddammit. He needed to work out.

Why was Matthew so fit, anyway?

* * *

Matthew was waiting for him on the front step of his house, smiling as Alfred approached. "Very nice running skills you have, Al," he says cheekily.

Alfred scowls at him, hand drifting back to rub his ass again. It's still sore. "Fuck you, Mattie. You are no longer my bro."

He rolls his eyes. "Okay, eh."

"Hey!" Alfred exclaims, throwing his arms up. "I'll have you know that it took you a very long time to reach the title of 'bro'. You're my fucking security blanket, Mattie. Are you saying you want me to go insane?"

"You're already mental," Matthew replies, shrugging carelessly.

"Not yet," Alfred says. "If you stop being my little bit of Canadian security, then I very well could be. You're my bro, and that's all there is to it. Now, what am I?" he demands, hands situated on his hips. He is the very picture of indignity.

"Um, Alfred?" he suggests, scuttling away from Alfred on the step. He's sat down next to Matthew, and was now attempting to wrap his arm around his shoulder. "Al?" Matthew attempts another guess, but the American only shakes his head.

"Nope, try again," Alfred says cheerfully, finally managing to drop his arms around Matthew's shoulders, pulling him closer so that he's situated against the American's chest.

"Okay, you're my own personal Superhero. Can I have my body back now?" he grumbles.

"Nah, I want to use it for my own purposes a bit more."

Matthew sighs, pushing Alfred's arm off of him, straightening up, dusting his shift off as if Alfred's actually got cooties and he was possibly infected with them. Or lice. Or herpes. This was, of course, entirely possible as one out of four people did have herpes. One, two, three, herpes!

"I don't know what's going on in that head of yours," Matthew mutters, "but when I'm stressing out about Katyusha, somehow I don't really think you making a move on me is the right idea, eh."

"Quite the contrary, it could be quite effective in taking your mind off her," Alfred says in all seriousness. Well, in a serious tone, at the very least. His eyes betray his amusement.

"I don't _want _to take my mind off of her," Matthew says stubbornly. "I want to talk about her until you understand that we're not supposed to take a break from each other. She's not supposed to act like this – she's never acted like this! She's supposed to be like she always is, where the weirdest thing I can hear her talking about is having a double wedding with Natalia and Ivan once we graduate. That's it."

Alfred visibly pales, all colour draining out of his cheeks. "Married?" he chokes out. "Holy fuck, Mattie. You're not ready for marriage."

Matthew sighs impatiently. "I know that, Al. I never said she was considering it. And neither am I, for that matter. She only entertains the idea in front of Natalia…"

"Okay…" Alfred says slowly, letting out a little breath of relief. He pins Matthew with a serious look, standing up and meeting the Canadian's eyes head on. He's being serious, and that is enough to take any reply Matthew had for him and throw out the metaphorical window. "Mattie, you're being overly dramatic here. It's a break. That's all it is. You're not broken up yet. Worry about marriage when you're both boring people who have nothing better to do because you've gotten so wrapped up in each other that it's not like anyone else would ever want you. Think about it after you're off your break, which you will be," Alfred stresses. "Just give her time. It's not like she's not going to come around. Until then, it will do you some good to be deprived of some action for a little while. You can finally see what it's like to live in my shoes."

Matthew snorts. "Yeah, sure, Al. Because you never get any. You know I love you, and all– I mean, you're my–"

"Say it," Alfred urges, a devilish grin on his face. He can feel his own eyes twinkling – which is a trippy feeling, to say the least.

The Canadian glares at him. "_Superhero_," he continues. "But you're a man-whore. A man-slut. Un salop."

"You've gotten me mixed up with Francis," Alfred points out. "He has someone else every other night."

Matthew rolls his eyes, nodding his head in agreement, but doesn't budge from his claim.

Alfred frowns. "Gee, thanks, Mattie," he says sarcastically. "Don't hold back your feelings in fear of letting me get hurt. And make sure to repeat the point as many times as possible just in case I didn't understand it the first time. You're a pal."

"Alfred," he groans. "The point is that it's not about the sex with Kat." A blush sprung up on Matthew's cheeks, heating his face and bringing his eyes to the ground. "Which is another reason you don't need to bring that up here."

"And the first reason would be?"

"You sleep around… to an extent."

"I do not sleep around!" Alfred exclaims, indignant. Yes, definitely indignant. "Every girl I've ever slept with has been my girlfriend… at some point in time."

Matthew shrugs. "Yeah, sure. Most times after the breakup, right?"

Alfred huffs. He crosses his arms over his chest, looking up towards the sky. The sun is still high and bright. It's too early to be having this conversation; he's too damn sober. "Sometimes," he admitted slowly.

"Don't pout, Al," Matthew laughs, and the sound rings in Alfred's ears. "You do it well, but don't pout over something you enjoy."

Alfred grins. "Whatever. But I'm not a… salop, Mattie. I can't believe you would even suggest that."

"It's the only justification to you going out with some of those girls. Most of them are gorgeous, willing, but lacking in the personality bit. No offense to them."

"Just being honest, hey? There's only one Kat in the world, and you've got her. So two out of three qualities ain't bad."

"I don't have Kat anymore, remember?" Matthew says quietly.

Shit… back to that already?

Alfred stands up, dusting off his pants. "Let's continue this inside, hm? I've realized that this is going to be a long discussion since everything is leading back to Katyusha. My room?"

Matthew, too, stands up, nodding. "Yeah, okay."

Alfred unlocks the door and lets it swing open, stepping aside to let Matthew in first. He kicks off his bowling shoes – which were seriously genuine bowling shoes stolen from the bowling alley down the street by none other than Matthew himself. The theft was his very roots of his life in crime – the crime that made up his entire criminal life. That didn't matter, though. The point was that Matthew stole bowling shoes for him. It takes a real bro to steal bowling shoes for you.

Matthew kicks off his scuffed up sneakers across the rug, and onto the hardwood floor. His socks have excess hanging off his toes, but he doesn't care, and only pads his way up the hardwood stairs and turns right into Alfred's room, leaving the door wide open behind him.

Alfred races up the stairs after him, careful not to slip this time. His stairs were tricky buggers, all polished and smooth, not to mention slippery as all hell. He had broken his nose more than once while running up and down these stairs with a younger Matthew.

As he reaches the top landing of the stairs, he prepares to slide across the doorway to his room, much like Tom Cruise did in _Risky Business_. To prepare, Alfred decides that if he wants to play Tom Cruise, he might as well really be in character as much as possible.

…which was also known as take off your own pants and throw them away. He flings the black jeans – Matthew's too-small pants that he had lent Alfred, but France had assured him that they made his ass look good, so he dealt with the slight tightness – onto the banister of the staircase. Let his parents figure out that one.

"Al?" Matthew's voice floats out of his room's doorway. "What are you doing? Even you can't get lost in your own house."

Alfred runs from the stairs and about two steps away from his door, he slides, arms out, fixing Matthew with a smouldering, sexy stare. Ooh. Hold on to your ovaries, ladies, Alfred F. Jones has arrived.

Matthew stares at him, an expression akin to fear present on his face. He walks back to the door after he's completed his slide. Brilliant, he must admit. Matthew still has the same facial expression. He looks frozen, almost.

"So?" he prompts. "Sexy or what?"

Matthew snaps out of whatever state he had been in. "I'm just happy you didn't hit a wall," is his cheerful reply.

Alfred flings the door closed with a huff, throwing himself on the bed. His room isn't special, not being changed much since he had been in high school, but it's good enough for his and Matthew's heart-to-heart talks. Because they happen just so frequently.

He doesn't bother moving from the bed while he calls out for Matthew. "Take a seat, my dear Matthew. On the couch, of course. The bed is only reserved for those who have faith in me."

"So just yourself, then?" Matthew cracks, but sits down on the couch across from his bed regardless. Obedient boy, he is.

"Ha. You think about what you just implied there, and get back to me." Alfred wiggles his eyebrows.

Matthew groans, but stands up once again, beginning to pace from one side of the room to the other, throwing his hands up in the air for emphasis. "See, you're a man-whore. Everything is about sex with you. Slut."

"Again, you've mistaken me with Francis," Alfred says dryly.

"You guys really aren't that different, honestly."

"Shut up, bitch."

"I think not, salop."

"Oh, French? Are we going French, now? I can do that. Trou du cul."

"I think I can out-French you, Alfred. I'm only fluent in the language – and also your teacher."

"Then insult me back, dammit!"

Matthew sniffs. "I do not need to stoop down to your level." Falling back down on the couch, he props his elbows on his knees, holding his head up with his hands. "So. Katyusha. We can have a meaningful conversation for once."

"That's bullshit; we've had other meaningful conversations," Alfred protests, managing to push his body up to the point of sitting on his bed. He leans up against his pillows and the wall – which, in reality, is an okay combination, even with his lack of a headboard.

"Today's meaningful conversation: Katyusha," he insists. "Now, tell me something. Please." Matthew is almost begging with his eyes at this point, which look up to meet Alfred's own eyes. Matthew has this amazingly awesome colour of eyes, blue bordering on violet, and right now they make him look as though he's lost all hope, and could begin to cry at any given moment.

Alfred sighs. He hates when their positions become reversed. Matthew is the serious one of their duo – Alfred is the hero, and isn't really the kind of person to give good advice. He can't really understand Matthew's feelings – that's not his thing. That's Matthew's job. But he gives in anyway, because Matthew just needs some old fashioned Alfred advice. "What the long and short of it?" Matthew nods. "Okay. Forget about her. And let me talk before you protest, 'kay?" Another nod. "Don't dwell on her. She could have her own reasons that she needs to sort out, and maybe it's not fair for her to drag you down into her own mess. She could realize that. Or maybe she's realized she's been playing with you unintentionally, and can't give you all that you deserve. And you deserve a hell of a lot, 'cause if I was a girl, I would totally do you."

"You'd do anything," Matthew mutters not-so-quietly.

"Oh, but I would do you good. Repeatedly, too. Which means you would be pretty damn special. Or another reason she could want a break? You won't like this one, but maybe she doesn't feel the same about you compared to how she used to feel. It happens, Matt. People grow up, and they change. It's not always that great, but you have to accept it. Or she could have a totally different reason. It doesn't matter. The point is that she wants a break. You give her one. If she wants you, she'll come back one way or another. If not… well… you'll figure that one out, too. You don't need her, Mattie. Well, maybe you do, 'cause you've been close with her forever, too, but you don't need to be her fuck-friend or whatever the hell you two were before."

Matthew doesn't bother to answer.

"Just let her figure out whatever it is that she needs to figure out. Obviously there's something if she wants a break. Ya hear me, Matt?"

He nods, albeit miserably. "I hear you. I don't like it, though."

"We'll find other stuff to do," he assures his downed friend. "You can get ready for snowboarding and hockey. We can cruise. I can kick your ass at whatever game we play. We'll party it up with Gilbert. He's always got a party going on, at either Roddy's or his brother's without them knowing, anyway," Alfred says. "The point is… you'll live, won't you?"

"Yeah." The answer wasn't too enthusiastic, but at that point, Alfred doesn't really give a shit. Matthew admitted that he'll be fine at some point. That was good enough for him. He just hoped this serious talk thing was finished now – not that he didn't appreciate that Matthew came running to _him_ instead of Lars or Gilbert, he was just, as mentioned before, not very good at talking about _feelings_.

"Now, what I want to know if why the hell it took you so long to tell me about this. You were just beating yourself up over this whole thing on the inside, weren't you, Mattie? Silly boy; all you needed was some Alfred logic."

"Alfred logic… that's kind of scary. An oxymoron, we'll say." Matthew grins slightly.

"Fuck you," Alfred replies good-naturedly. "You're an oxymoron."

"Do you even know what that word means?"

"Yeah, of course I do. It means shut the hell up."

"That's exactly it, Al," Matthew agrees. "They teach us a word in school to sum up that phrase in only one word. It's ingenious, really."

"Hey, oxymoron you sideways."

"Kick you in the oxymoron," Matthew immediately retorts. He stands up from the couch, rotating his ankle uncomfortably. "Foot's asleep," he explains when Alfred gives him an odd look.

"Ah, good ol' foot fuck."

Matthew sends him a strange look. You would think he wasn't used to the American by now. "I don't even want to know."

"You're sick and twisted," Alfred says, crossing his arms over his chest and tsking. "I didn't mean that literally. Pervert."

Matthew shrugs, but doesn't really deny any of Alfred's accusations. "As interesting as it is to discuss your strange sexual acts, I've got to go. I've got a big supper with Mom and her new husband." He makes a disgusted face. Once again, the expression ends up looking like one more suited to a small child.

Matthew is actually an attractive guy; Alfred can admit that much to himself. He can't really appreciate his looks, and neither do the ladies, being that for most of high school, it's been pretty obvious that only first Mei and then Katyusha was really allowed to appreciate his looks. Not that Alfred would really appreciate, anyway, but other girls sure as hell would. They're about the same height, standing at five foot nine. He's pretty muscled from all his hockey practice and snowboarding training, but he hides it under all those baggy sweaters he owns. Alfred used to snowboard and work out with him, but had stopped for reasons beyond his control.

But that _wasn't the point. _The point was Matthew's physical attractiveness. His shoulders were pretty broad, and, just like his nose, have lightly coloured freckles all over them. His nose and shoulders were the most freckled places on his body – or at least that Alfred was aware of, at least. His blond hair was shoulder-length and wavy, and if it caught the sunlight at just the right angle, it looked like strewn sunlight. He had pink lips – which was nothing special there – straight off-white teeth with one front tooth chipped from a snowboarding mishap, a smaller nose, and those too-blue eyes. Alfred supposed it was the eyes that stood out on Matthew most.

If you were to just look at him for the very first time, that's what you would see first. Those deep eyes that belonged to the one and only Matthew Williams.

The Matthew Williams who was staring at Alfred, one eyebrow raised. "Um, Al? I've got to go. So whenever you're done studying me… Don't make me shoot you down twice tonight."

Alfred shakes his head, bringing himself out of his thoughts. "Don't think I could handle the rejection. I'll see you out."

He follows Matthew down the stairs, but he pauses on the bottom step, looking up bemusedly at his pants that were still flung over the banister. "Are those mine?" he asked.

"Of course," Alfred shrugs.

"Your parents are going to realize that those are guys' pants… that you don't own… What kind of reaction are you going for?" He and Alfred locked eyes for a moment, and Matthew shook his head. "Actually, never mind. I know exactly what you're going for."

"Haha, that's right! It's going to be awesome!"

"I'm not so sure…"

"What are you talking about? Only good things can come from my Tom Cruise impression."

Matthew snorts. "Obviously," he mutters. He steps onto the entranceway's rug, hands on his hips, looking around the floor. "Where the hell are my shoes?"

"Here," Alfred says, whipping one at him. Matthew snatches it from the air as it zooms towards his left ear, but isn't prepared when the other shoe hits him in the face, bouncing into his arms where the first one already was. "Off the backboard," Alfred crows, doing a little victory jig, thrusting the air as Matthew rubbed his face.

Matthew glares. "Thanks, Al. I really appreciate you passing me my shoes."

"Hey, anytime, bro," Alfred says genuinely, holding the door open for him. "Talk to you within the next twenty-four hours?"

"Sure. See you, Alfred."

"Oh, and Mattie?"

"Hmm?" Matthew's already down the steps that led up to the doorstep.

"Think about what I said, will ya?"

"About Kat?"

"No, about the foot fuck," Alfred says sarcastically. He rolls his eyes. "Yes, you dumb fuck, about Katyusha. Think about not thinking about her."

Now it's Matthew's turn to roll his eyes. "Yes, Alfred, that makes perfect sense. I'll try." And he's cutting across Alfred's too-long lawn, the lawn that isn't cut. Alfred watches Matthew leave, mind half focused on his friend's leaving and the other half focused on the lawn he had yet to cut. The next thing he knew, the entire neighbourhood would be on his ass, protesting that he was upsetting the neighbourhood.

Meh. Whatever.

"Bye, Mattie!" he calls to Matthew's retreating back. The slight inclination of his blond head is the only indication Alfred needs to know that Matthew heard him.

It's only after he closes the door that he realizes Matthew had never answered his question about why he had waited so long to tell him about Katyusha. He changed the subject so neatly, like he had been ready for it, and expecting it.

Alfred leaned against the doorframe.

What a tricky bastard…

* * *

**A/N **;; I read a fic the other day where Sweden was a total sex god, and it made me laugh so hard. Not even joking. Like, seriously, _**no.**_

I am a supporter of both Canada/Taiwan and Canada/Ukraine, by the way. Lars is my preferred name for Holland. I don't like the other ones – Lars is the first one I ever saw used in relation to The Netherlands' human name, so there. It's being used in this story, too. This is probably 's only appearance in this story. Other characters will show up, too, as side/minor characters, but I pretty much have the main nations set up already.

Remember to review, guys!

Stay awesome.


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